


The Heart of the Lion

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Lion in Winter (1968), The Lion in Winter - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is all a game, and nothing is sacred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of the Lion

It is all a game, and nothing is sacred.

Richard knows this, has known it since he could first form conscious thought. Geoffrey may claim to remember his third birthday, but Richard remembers further back than that, to a time before Geoffrey was even born. Even then, the thorns had begun to grow. The sniping was nascent, although it was far from the fully formed creature it is today. It hurts Richard, therefore, to hear that Philip never loved him, that it was all done in the name of needling Henry, but it hurts more to know that he should have known better. 

Philip's declaration may be true; it may not. Richard is no naif. He had been with boys before Philip, and girls too, and if Philip was acting, then he is a professional who sadly missed his life's true calling. The kissing, the clutching, the sighing and panting and urgent moaning of Richard's name had seemed like real lust and afterward, the clinging and the gazing and the soft smiles had seemed like real love. But what would Richard know? He's never seen true love. He has no exemplar. 

Familial love he knows, of a sort, although most would scarce believe it. He knew it with Eleanor, before imprisonment crystallized her viciousness and adulthood opened Richard's eyes to his mother's true nature. He knew it with his brother Henry. If Richard is John's once-venerated but ultimately detested elder brother, then Henry was Richard's, worshipped and adored, then hated and finally dead. 

He knows it even with his father. Despite everything between them, Henry the elder claims Richard is the best of his sons. Richard thinks that Henry does love him, to some extent, although not nearly as much as he loves drama and histrionics and battling with Eleanor. 

But romantic love has been absent from Richard's life. It haunts no halls he's ever been in, it sits at no tables. If Philip now claims what passed between them was an act, then Richard is in no position to question it. Certainly, Philip makes no attempt to recant. In the cold light of Saint's Stephen's Day, after Eleanor has gone, he and the men of the family stand about, readying horses and entourages and mostly ignoring one another. Mostly. Richard glances up from examining his saddle to see Philip standing with Geoffrey, leaning close and smiling. Geoffrey says something—witty and sardonic no doubt, he has the sense of humour Richard proudly lacks—and Philip laughs, loud enough for Richard to hear. Whether that is by accident or design, Richard can't tell. He tells himself he doesn't care. _Good luck with him_ , he thinks. _He'll offer you rubies with one hand and stab you with the other._ Even as his mind forms the words, he doesn't know whether he means them for Geoffrey or Philip. 

“Godspeed.” Henry approaches. He doesn't add “my son,” and his manner is still cool, but Richard knows all has been forgiven, and they've ended up right back where they started. They always do. 

“Until we meet again,” Richard replies. Henry holds out a hand. Richard clasps it, briefly, and slings his leg over his horse. 

“Whenever that may be,” Henry says. 

“Indeed.” Richard signals his men. As they ride through the gates of Chinon, Richard can't help but hope that day is somewhere in the far-off future. Life is so much simpler—and safer—on the battlefield. 


End file.
